


Bitter End

by KosukeRen



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Kisame narrative, M/M, Platonic Romance, Short One Shot, Suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:23:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KosukeRen/pseuds/KosukeRen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisame recalls Itachi's struggle with his illness in this dramatic narrative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter End

Where to begin… I guess you could say I never saw it coming. At least not to the extent of what actually happened…

That sounds cliché. Let me start over.

He was sick, sure. I knew that much. I also knew his condition was weakening. I thought it was pretty bad, but I guess there was more he was hiding— suffering, I mean. Not that I would have acted differently if put in a similar situation. In our line of work, secrecy is customary. I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

His deterioration was difficult to watch. Initially, for the first few months at least, I had assumed he was just under the weather and that in time he would return to his casual self. He let me believe that for a time. Whether he was protecting himself from my knowledge of the matter or protecting me from the truth, I never really understood. It wasn't until I was beginning to voice my observation that he could very well be dying that his demeanor changed.

We were returning from Kirigakure on an expedition to gather intel on the Sanbi Jinchuriki. We hadn't been involved in any fights so I was surprised when he quit following me to catch his breath.

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up." Even though I was at least three meters away, his voice barely raised above a whisper. A sharp pain was visible by the way he leaned against a tree with one arm and clutched his abdomen with the other. The nagging doubt in my head that he would not recover was forcing its way to the center of my thoughts. As I watched his teeth clench in pain, I realized that I was witnessing the agonizingly slow death of my partner.

I caught him and lowered him to the ground as his knees gave out. By default, he let the arm that had propped him on the tree fall around my neck. It didn't linger, however. As soon as he had cleared enough of the pain out of his thoughts, he pushed himself to his feet and, without a word, resumed the journey back to headquarters.

I don't know why I said anything. I never had before that day. The weight of the reality was just too much for me to carry, I suppose. It's not like anyone could've done anything, anyways. Still, I couldn't let it go.

"You should be more careful, Itachi. Overexerting yourself will only exacerbate the issue." Maybe I thought he would open up more, but of course he continued in silence. "I guess it would be stupid to ask if you've noticed any signs of a recovery." I remember cringing as the words came out.

"…Yeah." His stare was no different than usual- placid, empty, cold. He didn't even bother to reprimand me for being too talkative. We continued in silence for a time until I found the courage to make a second attempt at getting him to speak.

"You'd be letting me down, you know." His head shifted. For once he seemed mildly interested in what I had to say. "If you were to die on a mission, it would be extremely inconvenient." His gaze returned to the ground before him.

"I'll be sure to try not to die on a mission, then."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

We spent the remaining hours of the day in silence and only at sunset, when we had arrived at headquarters, did Itachi speak. We were both sitting atop a ledge overlooking the horizon.

"Kisame." His voice startled me and made me straighten. "The things you say don't bother me. You can come to terms with my illness however you see fit…" His gaze was fixed on the sinking sun. "But please stop looking at me that way." I hadn't realized I'd been fixated on him since his episode. I'm not really one to admit times when I am afraid of losing a person. Hell, I hadn't even admitted it to myself. But he knew.

Those eyes of his could do more than win any battle. They could see through any soul. And it wasn't until I realized I would never be able to see those eyes again that it occurred to me I had never learned anything from him. In the five years we had been partners, I was never able to glean any information. Maybe that's the reason I was always so talkative. I wanted to learn more about this strange person I was stuck with. I guess I thought that one day he would open up and tell me everything. What a waste of breath.

The closest he ever came was during one of his episodes. It wasn't so much that he was talkative, but that the guard that never dropped had to fall. The energy required to enforce the walls around his heart could no longer be supplied. It had been about six months since I had realized the severity of Itachi's situation.

He was preparing to leave on some personal matters. I knew things were escalating with his kid brother and I agreed to help him in any way he wanted. I walked by his room to notice him sitting on the edge of his bed taking a substantially greater number of those pills than usual. To this day I'm still not sure what he was taking—or what was even wrong with him for that matter. The details were irrelevant, especially for a man like Itachi.

He caught a glimpse of my staring at him and his eyes fell shamefully. I took the gesture as an invitation and carefully entered his room. I had been in there more and more frequently, helping him a little here and there. He typically hid the pain so well, but it was obvious that day was different. The reason for that, I'm not exactly certain. My feet moved on their own and before I realized the audacity of what I was doing, I was sitting beside him on the edge of his bed. My mind raced for words to say, but it drew a blank.

He turned to face me and as his eyes fell on my confused complexion, he let out an amused chuckle. My eyes widened at the foreign action.

"You've finally run out of words to say." He looked down, but I could tell he was still smiling. Yes,  _smiling._

"I guess I have." I was relieved to see him in good spirits.

"I find it hard to believe you barged in here just for this."

"No… Actually, I don't know why I barged in... I guess I just thought maybe you needed something." I had never seen his face so surprised. I was consumed by both regret for my words and fear of his reaction. After all, he wasn't the only one who was surprised by my tender side. "I mean, it's not like I think you're incapable, I just…" I was digging myself deeper. I guess I was kind of hoping my embarrassing words would keep him entertained, but I was interrupted as he struggled to his feet.

"Excuse me." He was the most polite serial murderer I'd ever met. Even in his final days, he remained courteous. He began stumbling towards the bathroom, but rather than his frail body falling to the floor, it folded limply in my arms as I reached out to catch him. Blood was splattering against the concrete as I recalled my first encounter with this man I would come to know as my friend. The first impression on that dock where we met was one of fear. Itachi fell into a rare group of people that could easily kill me if they so desired. And here he was, clinging to my arm for support.

For the first time, he stopped pushing me away. For the first time, he let me carry him to his bed. For the first time, I realized just how skeletal he was. He rolled over on his side and let the illness ravage his body. After a few productive coughs, his body was consumed by a violent shaking. I looked around the room nervously because I had never been in a situation that required me to be a patient, caring individual. Itachi must've noticed my discomfort, for in between fits he would nod his head as if to relieve me of responsibility. When the blood beginning to pool on the sheet beneath him grew to an alarming size, I grabbed the blanket that had been folded neatly at the foot of the bed and draped it over him. I walked around the bed and pulled the blanket to his shoulder, letting my hand rest firmly to try and soothe the shivering. I sat down at the side of the bed, and by now he was in a fetal position with his back to me. It seemed as though he was beginning to calm down. We must've sat there for quite some time as he collected himself.

My hand moved of its own volition and reached for the pale skin of his forehead. My index finger collected a stray lock of hair that had been dangling in the blood and pulled it back out of his face. His weak, obsidian eyes shifted as far as they could until they found my face. I knew he was staring right through me, even then in his moment of defeat, but I couldn't bring myself to face him.

"You should get some rest, now." I retreated my hand and shifted my body away from him.

"…There's no time." He sat up and used the back of his hand to attempt to remove the blood from the corners of his mouth. His gaze fell on his hand and he let out a grunt of disgust at the uselessness of his efforts.

"Hm. That might be the only genuine response I've gotten out of you these five years." I was amused as I walked around the bed again in order to help him to his feet, stabilize him, and get him a towel from the bathroom. It was the closest glimpse I ever had at the man he was behind that façade.

"Don't get used to it." He mumbled as he finally managed to work the blood off his face. "We're leaving in an hour."

…

I knew he was dying. But I didn't know that day would be the last. I didn't know that fit of coughs would be the last I ever helped him through. Whether his tears on that day were real or my imagination doesn't matter.

It wasn't glorious and romantic like the stories. This cancer, disease, affliction—whatever it was—it didn't steal Itachi's life. His death was unavoidable, as is everyone's. Instead, it stole his pride, his dignity, and his independence. It left him with shame and a yearning for the end, a yearning for the single, liberating blow that would end the cycle of torment.

For almost a year, I watched this sickness consume his body and mind. Some days he concealed it better than others, but it was always present. It was a palpable air between us, one we hardly spoke of but always acknowledged.

I always told him I would never trust a single human being. He must've known I was lying from the start. The truth was that he never trusted me, not until the bitter end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I wrote this a while back but am behind on posting stories here. I hope you enjoyed my little story!


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